. . . When you came to
the door, Monsieur--I am not made of iron . . . . Tenez,
here is your card I have never lost it." He holds out to WELLWYN
an old and dirty wing card. As inch by inch he has advanced
into the doorway, the light from within falls on him, a tall
gaunt young pagan with fair hair and reddish golden stubble of
beard, a long ironical nose a little to one side, and large,
grey, rather prominent eyes. There is a certain grace in his
figure and movements; his clothes are nearly dropping off him.]
WELLWYN. [Yielding to a pleasant memory.] Ah! yes. By the
fountain. I was sitting there, and you came and ate a roll, and
drank the water.
FERRAND. [With faint eagerness.] My breakfast. I was in poverty--
veree bad off. You gave me ten francs. I thought I had a little the
right [WELLWYN makes a movement of disconcertion] seeing you said
that if I came to England----
WELLWYN. Um! And so you've come?
FERRAND. It was time that I consolidated my fortunes, Monsieur.
WELLWYN. And you--have----
[He stops embarrassed.]
FERRAND.
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